


Letter of Invitation

by Dorsetgirl_hetfic (DorsetGirl)



Series: Letters With Marie-Angelique [2]
Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorsetGirl/pseuds/Dorsetgirl_hetfic
Summary: Sharpe wants to see Marie-Angelique immediately but is persuaded to send her a letter instead.
Relationships: Marie-Angelique Bonnet & Richard Sharpe
Series: Letters With Marie-Angelique [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201298
Kudos: 1





	Letter of Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Take place a few days after _Letter of Hope ___

Sharpe was in the yard stacking the last of the apple boughs when Michel Bonnet returned on Friday afternoon.

Sharpe’s pack was full and ready to go. His boots were polished, his shirts mended. Life on a farm didn’t lend itself to extravagant clothing but he fancied Marie-Angelique wouldn’t turn him away for lack of a frill or two around his neck. He’d debated taking his uniform simply because it would pain him not to have it to hand, but decided against it. He was 44 years old, a farmer not a soldier, and he should be used to it by now.

“Monsieur Bonnet, shall you go in and take tea? Pan’s hot.”

“No, no, I do not mean to be rude but I would like to be on my way as soon as may be.”

“Of course, monsieur. Then can I ask you to wait while I saddle my horse? I trust it will not inconvenience you if I ride with you to Paris?”

He’d made much the same arrangements for the farm as he had when he’d been summoned to London by Wellington, four years back. That time he’d only expected to be away a week and it had been 8 months - he’d been lucky to find anything left on his return. This time he didn’t plan to stay any longer than it took for Marie-Angelique to pack for her visit, so he should be back within ten days or so.

“No, monsieur, not at all, if you can be ready in the hour. You have business in Paris?”

“Aye, well, I’m going to see Marie-Angelique. Been a few years since I were in Paris and I thought to see the place for a day or two before I escort her back. Save your man a journey.”

There was an odd silence. Bonnet looked at him for a moment as if he hadn’t quite heard what Sharpe had said.

“Your pardon, monsieur, do I understand you correctly? You mean to leave now, today, and go straight to Paris to see my niece?”

“That’s what I said, weren’t it? Something wrong with that?”

“You will not send a letter first, give her time to prepare?”

“Why would I do that? She says in her letter she wants to see me.” He decided not to mention that some parts of the letter were now unreadable where he’d traced the words so often.

“Well - yes, but...”

“Look, she says it three times, she wants to see me.” Sharpe took the letter out of his pocket and waved it at Bonnet. “And - and I want to see her.” 

He shrugged. “Thought she’d be married by now and I didn’t want to spoil anything for her, but she’s a grand lass and good company. I should like to see her, and she wants to see me, so what’s to do with ‘give her time to prepare’?”

Bonnet smiled wryly.

“Pardonnez-moi monsieur, but you don’t know much about women, do you?”

“I’ve had my share. Been married twice, I think I know what a man needs to know.”

“Ah but you don’t, monsieur. Forgive me, but your wife - both your wives - you met them in time of war, outside of society, one might say.” He smiled at Sharpe. “I understand you were very happy with them both - I envy you that, monsieur.”

“What are you getting at? You saying Teresa wouldn’t have wanted me in peace time? In _society_?”

Sharpe found himself moving forward, fists clenched. She could still do that, Teresa. She invaded his mind, put him off balance, as much in death as she had in life. She’d got him into a lot of trouble over the years, but she’d been the saving of him after Lucille had died. 

He made himself stand still and wait for Bonnet to answer. 

Bonnet put his hands up placatingly. “Non, monsieur, ce n'est pas ce que je voulais dire. I am saying that Teresa knew what you saw when you looked at her, and she was comfortable with that. You saw - she _was_ , I understand - a strong woman who had her own work, who bowed to no man and had no time for - for prinking and what do you say, peacocking, in high society. In that I think you were very alike. My wife tells me you do not attend _salons_ and other entertainments, preferring to keep your own company.”

“Teresa was like no other woman you ever met, and aye, I were lucky to have her, but what’s that got to do with me not going to Paris to see Marie-Angelique? She knows full well I don’t dance, in fact first time I met her she smacked me round the face for it, did she tell you that? Didn’t stop her writing to me.”

“I’m sorry, monsieur, I’m not explaining very well. And yes, she did mention that.” Bonnet grinned briefly then looked serious again. “Marie-Angelique is also a strong woman, but in a different way from your Teresa. She does not have her own work or her own purpose in the world. You met her at a strange and difficult time in her life and she was very pleased to have your company, but - oh dear, how to explain? Perhaps I will have that tea after all, if I may monsieur?” 

They walked towards the house, Sharpe willing himself to remain calm and casting a careful eye over everything as they went. Though he no longer knew whether he would be leaving the place today or not.

In the kitchen Sharpe did the necessary fussing, offering pastries he didn’t have with his fingers mentally crossed. He poured the tea, Bonnet’s in the cup he himself normally used, and his own in the one Lucille had preferred. 

“There you go, Bonnet, now sit down and start talking. You’re going nowhere till we sort this out.”

He sat down opposite Bonnet and leaned back. “You were explaining why I shouldn’t go and see a woman who wants to see me. And you weren’t making much of a job of it.”

“I’ll be completely honest, monsieur...”

“Would help,” Sharpe muttered.

“...I don’t comprehend it fully myself. But the circumstances in which you will meet - if you meet - are very different from in India. Before, you were a soldier and she a woman in need of care. A professional duty, one might say. You made it clear to her that you saw her as merely an obligation.” 

Sharpe shifted uncomfortably. The man wasn’t wrong, but he’d hoped that by the end of the journey he’d given Marie-Angelique cause to remember him a little more kindly than that.

“Now you are a farmer and she is back in society and in the safety of her family. You owe her no care, you have no pressing reason to treat her well...”

“Christ, you Frogs don’t fuck about, do you!”

“...and so she is unsure how you will see her; she does not know who she is to you now. All she wants - my wife assures me - is a little time to prepare herself for meeting with you again, should you want to see her. Trust me, monsieur, it will do your suit no favours to come upon her by surprise.”

“My _suit_? You think I’m looking to marry her? I’ve got a place here, a life, and someone like Marie-Angelique would never...”

He broke off, suddenly aware that in his imaginings of meeting Marie-Angelique again, he had indeed been hoping that she would travel back to the farm with him and allow him to raise the subject of their forming a life together. He felt stupid now. She must have suitors lined up at her door and she would want to see him only for old times’ sake and to tell him who she had chosen. She probably saw him as some kind of father figure.

Bonnet gave him an understanding smile.

“Ah, monsieur, fear not. Marie-Angelique has turned down many young gentlemen; she has no interest in merely looking pretty on the arm of some society fop. She needs a strong man, monsieur, one who will yet allow her to be strong also. One such as yourself.” 

“But...” Sharpe was confused. She wanted to see him, her family thought he was right for her, but she didn’t want to see him yet? 

“Please, let it be as I suggest. Do you go now and write her a letter, which I shall deliver for you and then we can make arrangements. Believe me, I would like to see her happy, and my wife assures that the widower of Mme Lassan is well-known to be a kind and decent man. Though he would apparently have people think otherwise.”

~ ~ ~

Ma chère Marie-Angelique,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, and my answer is simple: je vous prie, visitez-moi!

Your Uncle Michel awaits my reply so I will say little more for now, that he may be on his way, but I want you to know that I have thought of you many times since I left India.

I had expected that a lady like yourself would have little interest in such as me once you regained your home and family. I am very happy to learn ’tis otherwise and will be delighted to entertain you here as soon as you wish and for as long as may suit you.

I remain, madam, your humble and obedient servant,

Richard Sharpe

~ ~ ~

He sanded the page and took it back to the kitchen where Bonnet awaited him. There was an awkward silence while he lit a taper and sealed the letter, then they both spoke together.

“Will you...”

“I have...”

“I’m sorry monsieur, do please continue.”

“I’ve never been a one for fine words, Monsieur Bonnet,” Sharpe said awkwardly. “Could I ask you ... will you explain to Marie-Angelique that I - that I would...” he trailed off.

“Of course, monsieur, have no fear. I understand.”

After Bonnet had taken his leave, Sharpe’s few words safe in his pocket, Sharpe sat down. He needed to see his neighbour before evening milking, tell him he could stand down, but first he took the letter from its packet again.

He pictured Marie-Angelique at her escritoire, her lips pursed in concentration, her blonde hair gleaming in the candlelight. The line of her neck, the turn of her ankle. The curves of her gown.

The shadows lengthened across the yard outside till at last he cursed himself for a sentimental bastard and went to look to the milking.


End file.
